I work silently, wheeling over myself,like the crow over death, the crow in mourning. I think, isolated in the expanse of the seasons, central, surrounded by silent geography:a partial temperature falls from the sky,an ultimate empire of confused unities gathers surrounding me.

- from the poem ‘Unity,’ Pablo Neruda, Residence on Earth

… It was not the bell he was trying to find, but the angellost in our bodies. The music that thinking is. He wanted to know what he heard, not to get closer.